Some people call it a Halter monitor, and I imagine an oat bag around my neck. Turns out it’s called a Holter monitor named after Dr. Norman J. Holter and his team in 1957 for their creation of an ambulatory heart monitor. It’s a portable way to check your heart rhythms twenty-four hours a day.
I have worn two, so far. The first was an early prototype, a prehistoric forerunner.
I had prepared, like a good patient, by reading all about Holter monitor rules online. I sat reviewing them prior to my appointment. Don’t wear tight clothes; no bra; no jewellery; wear it for 24 hours each day; don’t bathe; keep your phone six inches away. I looked forward to further instructions.
The technician, after smiling and saying ‘Hello’, had taken a vow of silence. Wordlessly, she attached electrodes in blind spots and then the four corresponding leads of red, yellow, green and blue. A weighty black battery pack was the final part of the installation. It seemed I had been assimilated into the Borg Collective.
The pack needed to be supported at all times or its weight would pull on the leads, so it had a handy clip to attach to a waistband. Going to the washroom was tricky, it was like holding a wallet throughout the process.
As the technician plugged me in, I asked my first question. “Does it buzz?”
“Not really.”
“Do I get extra stickies in case they fall off?” I’m a detail-oriented catastrophizer.
“No, they’ll stay on all week.”
I decided rather than asking more questions to simply seek confirmation. ”So, I don’t wear a bra, bathe, wear jewellery, keep my phone…”
“Oh, you can wear a bra and jewellery, and you can shower, just unhook the leads.” I would be as likely to unhook the leads as to play with jumper cables. She became chatty. “Er, you don’t want to stand in front of a microwave, and you should avoid industrial machinery.” Well, this was news.
Suddenly, I heard 3 buzzes, then 3 more buzzes. I looked at my chest, then at her, then back at my infrastructure, holding my breath. To my alarm she began moving away from me, then she answered her desk phone.
The Holter monitor I am wearing today has only two electrodes and one lead, all coloured red. Whenever I glance at my heart area it looks like I’m leaking. The pack is much smaller and block-shaped. It’s fully covered with tape and firmly attached to the middle of my chest. Now, I am a part of the Lego Universe. This new design means I no longer fear sleeping with wires and waking up in an oddly electrical yet colourful embrace.
Tomorrow, I have been instructed to unhook the unit promptly at 8am and return it to the agreed upon location at precisely 9am. The recording expounds on the consequences if I do not complete my mission. The Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. This tape will self-destruct in 5 seconds.
Let’s hope I don’t get my wires crossed.
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